


We Don't Fight At Funerals

by Ashling



Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Fist Fights, Gen, Letterkenny Justice, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-25 09:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17722577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: Justice, the Letterkenny way.





	We Don't Fight At Funerals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haywire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haywire/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta, [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42). All mistakes are mine.

"Now I never said a word against a potato before," began Squirrelly Dan.

"Mm?" Wayne blinked Squirrelly Dan's face back into focus. He'd drifted off a little, thinking. Across the crowded living room, he could see Katy talking with Joint Boy's cousin and wearing a look of genuine concern that he rarely saw on her face about anything. Wayne had been as fond of Joint Boy as the next neighbor, but he hadn't expected to see Joint Boy's cousin quite so broken up about it. They had lived on the farm together, but still.

"I said I never said a word against a potato before," Squirrelly Dan said again.

Not broken up about it, agitated. Joint Boy's cousin was explaining something, gesturing. Pointing. Wayne followed Katy's eyeline to a tall man that he vaguely recognized. Cockroach, his brain said. The man's name was Cockroach. Except that couldn't be right.

"Mm," Wayne said.

"He said he never said he said a word against a potato before," said Daryl.

"No, I said I never said a word against a potato before," said Squirrelly Dan. "Nobody's accused me of sayin' a word against no potatoes befores."

"I'm not accusin' you of sayin' no words against no potatoes. I'm just tellin’ Wayne you never said you said a word against 'em before."

Squirrelly Dan blinked. "No, Darry, it's the opposite."

"You're sayin' you did say somethin' against potatoes before? 'Cause I never heard you say it," Daryl said. "Hell, I've seen you with a baked potato."

"Well, I seen youse with a mashed potato," said Squirrelly Dan.

"Seen youse with a scalloped potato."

"Seen youse with a cheesy hash browns."

"Seen youse with an egg and bacon breakfast poutine."

"Seen youse with a sandwich made outta triple-decker Swiss rostis and two sausage patties. Nobody in this house has anything against a potato," said Squirrelly Dan. "But..."

"Mm?" said Wayne, because he vaguely felt the rhythm of the conversation called for it. He was following Katy, who was now talking with Joint Boy's aunt and cousin, glancing over at not-Cockroach with a definite Look on her face.

Wayne put down his paper plate on a side table. He felt something coming on. He didn’t know what it was yet, but he was pretty sure he needed to have his hands free for whenever it came.

"Alls I'm sayin's is," said Squirrelly Dan, very cautiously, "Maybes we could do with less vinegars in this potato salads, yeah?"

"Now you know you have a weak mouth," said Daryl reprovingly. "No spicy tuna sushis."

"Sushi."

"No jalapeño poppers. No curries unless you get a glob of yogurt the size of an apple on the side. And, you have to admit it: very little salsa."

"I can have some salsas," said Squirrelly Dan, a little sulkily.

"Barely enough to cover a single tortilla chip."

"I'm saying I can have some salsas."

"And I'm saying, _some_ is pushin' it. That's all I'm sayin'. Might be more like _a little_."

"Well, you try it!" Squirrelly Dan shoved his paper plate at Daryl.

"Fine!" Daryl put down his own plate, grabbed Squirrelly Dan's, and took a heaping forkful of potato salad. Immediately, his face contorted in a truly amazing and frightful way, and then his mouth opened, and the potato salad tumbled out.

"Right?" said Squirrelly Dan. "Right?"

Daryl put the plate down, as if even holding it offended him. He pointed. "That tastes like piss!"

"'Ey," said Wayne, automatically.

"What?" said Daryl.

"You can't say piss at a funeral," said Squirrelly Dan in an undertone.

"But this isn't a funeral," protested Daryl. "This is the afterparty."

"The wake," said Squirrelly Dan.

"No, the wake's the bit with the body. Already did that," said Daryl.

"The other thing, then," said Squirrelly Dan.

Across the room, Katy had struck up a conversation with not-Cockroach, and she wasn't just talkin’ to him, she was looking up through her eyelashes at him. Hand on his arm. But just then, she seemed to have struck out. The man turned away with a placid expression on his face, like a sleepy cow, and turned back to the long low buffet table to get some more roast beef. Katy looked considerably annoyed about it.

"Wayne?" said Daryl. "Wayne, are you all right?"

"It's a reception," said Wayne. "Not a wake, not a funeral, and not an afterparty. For an afterparty, you'd have to have something to celebrate."

"Rest in peace, Joint Boy," said Squirrelly Dan quickly.

"Rest in peace," the other two echoed.

"Rest in peace," said Katy. She'd crossed the room fast. It wasn't the usual mid-party conversation drift. Her eyes were hard.

"Lotta people here today," Wayne said to her.

While they had their moment of sibling telepathy, Daryl went on, unhindered. "Yeah, wasn't expecting to see so many people. Not that Joint Boy didn't have many friends. I mean he had a lot of friends. Great guy."

"Great guy," said Squirrelly Dan.

"Guess he played hockey with McMurray, back in the day. Went to school with Jimmy Dickens. Friends with Gayle, I think."

"Oh, more'n friends," said Squirrelly Dan.

There was a slight pause.

"Aren't you going to say it's impolite to kiss 'n tell? said Daryl.

"Tis," acknowledged Wayne. He was looking through the people in the room as if trying to catalogue every face. Katy subsided into eating whatever she wanted off of Wayne and Daryl and Squirrelly Dan's plates. The rolls and butter, mostly.

"Well, I didn't do the kissing," said Squirrelly Dan.

"But you are doing the telling," said Daryl.

"So I am. Joint Boy told me that a night with Gayle is the best damn night of a man's life. That's all. There's no kiss in there, as you can see."

"There's definitely a kiss."

"Well, maybes they spent the night talkin' abouts the Stanley Cup chances of the Calgary Flames," said Squirrelly Dan.

"Or bakin' dozens of cookies for the church prison ministry, what Pastor Glen started last fall," said Daryl.

"Or cleanin' out their closets with a trash bag and a giveaway box. You know, Marie Kondo says—"

"Are we gonna fight or what?" said Katy.

Wayne grunted.

"Who're we fightin' now?" said Squirrelly Dan. Without a drop of compunction, he took the cookie off his plate and stuffed it into his pocket for safekeeping. Just in case a fight broke out then and there and they had to make a run for it afterwards.

"We don't fight at funerals," Wayne said, very flatly.

"It's disrespectful," said Katy, and at the sheer outrage in her voice, Daryl and Squirrelly Dan immediately locked on to who she was looking at.

"Teddy Cochran?" said Squirrelly Dan. "It's been a while since I've seen him. What's he doing?"

"Leaning on Joint Boy's family," said Katy. "Guess they've been behind on the mortgage for a while. And surprise surprise, he's got himself a job assessing property value for the fuckin' bank. So he shows up. To assess Joint Boy's property."

"At the afterparty?" said Daryl.

"The reception," said Wayne.

"That's disrespectful!" said Squirrelly Dan, horrified.

"What I'm saying," said Katy impatiently.

"We don't fight at funerals," said Wayne. Before Daryl could chime in, Wayne added, "Or receptions."

"Well, I already tried to get him upstairs," said Katy. "Upstairs wouldn't count."

"Were you planning to go upstairs alone?" said Wayne in a tone of clear disapproval.

"He's got arms like toothpicks," said Katy. "It'd only take me thirty seconds. Wouldn't even get a wrinkle on my dress."

"Mm."

For a moment, all four of them were united in the relatively pleasant pastime of imagining Katy kicking the living daylights out of Teddy Cochran.

"Well, what are we gonna do?" said Daryl, after a while.

"He lives in the city," said Katy. "I looked him up on Facebook."

"You're sayin' his house is out of the question?" said Wayne.

"I'm not saying it's out of the question," said Katy. "I'm saying it could be tricky."

"So we cut him off before he gets there," said Wayne.

"Barricade the road when everyone leaves?" said Squirrelly Dan.

"Nobody'd rat," said Daryl. Which was a given. People in Letterkenny talked plenty to each other, but never to the police.

They all imagined the scene: Teddy Cochran getting his ass kicked in front of everybody. Only, in this case, everybody included not only Jimmy Dickens and McMurray and Gayle, but also the new pastor that had replaced Glen, the one with the huge mole right next to his nose, and Mrs. Leatham, who loved to judge everybody, and old Ms. Kerrigan who had already had a heart attack earlier that year.

"Messy," said Katy.

"Too messy," said Wayne. But his voice wasn't as dour as before. He seemed to have had an idea. "Let's go clean up and pay our respects," he said. "It'll be time for us to go soon."

"What's up?" said Katy.

"I know someone that can help," said Wayne.

"Good," said Katy decidedly.

 

 

They threw away their paper plates and plastic cutlery, picked up other people's stray empty plates and wadded-up napkins, and double-checked that everything was okay. Then they said their respectful goodbyes to the family, and regrouped on the front porch, just outside the door. Wayne, for once, was absorbed in texting.

"Now what?" said Daryl.

"His house is on fire," said Wayne.

"Really?" said Katy, sounding pleased.

"No. But you can tell him that." He passed her his phone, with Teddy Cochrane's name already typed in.

They all waited very quietly while Katy hit dial and adopted her most girlish, helpless voice. "Hi! Mr. Cochrane? Oh my god. You have to get here. I think—oh my God!" she all but squealed. "Your house just exploded. Like, I was—I don't know. I don't know! My mom said it could be like a gas leak—"

She handed Wayne back the phone. "He hung up on me," she said in her normal voice.

Seconds later, Teddy Cochrane raced out the front door and down the steps to his car. It was a shiny red thing with no top. It screeched when he switched from reverse to drive, and then shot off down the road at a speed that would cause even the most law-flaunting citizen of Letterkenny some considerable concern.

They watched it go.

"That's a nice car," Squirrelly Dan said wistfully.

"Damn nice car," said Daryl.

"Hold on a minute," said Wayne. He turned on his heel.

"What?" Katy called after him.

"I'm goin' to get the potato salad."

 

 

When the four hicks arrived, the road ahead had been blocked by a massive navy pickup truck parked sideways across it, and Teddy Cochrane was fully standing up in his red convertible, yelling at the top of his lungs at the truck's driver.

He couldn't compete with her in any way, of course. Tanis wasn't even bothering to yell back. Instead, she was blasting music so loud that the hicks could feel the beat of it even from where Wayne parked his truck. Wayne exited the driver's side, while Katy hopped out of the shotgun side. Squirrelly Dan clambered down from the back, whereupon Daryl passed him the tub of potato salad and jumped down too.

The four hicks formed a line in front of their truck, Wayne carefully unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling up the cuffs. When he'd finished, the music stopped.

"Hey, boo," said Tanis.

"Tanis," said Wayne.

"Can you get this bitch to clear the road?" said Teddy Cochrane.

"No," said Wayne. He started forward.

"Hands up, pink dick," said Tanis.

"My house is on fire," said Teddy Cochrane.

"Get out of the car," said Wayne.

After a second, Teddy did. Hands not up, though. "What the fuck is this about?"

"Timing," said Wayne. "Visiting a month after might have been all right. Three weeks after, not classy. Two weeks after, very bad taste. Visiting them a week after Joint Boy's death would be a punishable crime. And, seeing as you didn't even wait a week, it's damn near capital."

"Like investing?" said Teddy, bewildered.

"Like Texas," yelled Katy. She was so enraged, she hadn't even lit a cigarette. "The fuckin' death penalty, you idiot."

Teddy went pale. "It was an open house!" he spluttered. "There was an invitation to the entire Letterkenny community! On Facebook!"

"You're not a part of Letterkenny," said Wayne. "If you were, I'd have to do something about it."

"Listen, listen," said Teddy. "If you would just—"

Wayne hit him. Real gentle, for Wayne. It was nearly a love-tap, albeit with a closed fist. "Enough jawin'," he said.

"Told you to put your hands up," said Tanis.

Everything seemed to happen at once, slow. In the end, it was very simple. Teddy swung wildly for Wayne, having had very little experience fighting but hoping that the range of his long arms might count for something. Wayne stepped in close and blocked Teddy's right arm with his left. In the same fluid motion of stepping in, he grabbed Teddy's shirtfront with his available right hand and pushed off his back leg to drive home a headbutt that made a definitive-sounding crack.

Teddy went down like a rag doll.

By then, Squirrelly Dan and Daryl had already started forward. Katy was leaning on the truck. She lit a cigarette at almost exactly the same time that Wayne did.

Squirrelly Dan dumped the potato salad in a big pale heap onto the buttery brown leather of the convertible's front seats. Daryl spread it around a bit, and then wiped his hands on his jeans.

"Derry," said Katy, exasperated.

"What?" said Daryl. "I can't lick my hands with that stuff."

"Is he alive?" said Squirrelly Dan, with some concern.

Wayne reached down and rolled Teddy over. "Just playin' dead,” he reported. “Like a possum."

"Don't touch me," said Teddy. "I'm—I'm going to file a police report against you. All of you. They'll—"

"Hit him again," said Tanis.

"Can't hit him while he's down," said Wayne.

Tanis clucked disapprovingly.

"This doesn't change the mortgage," said Teddy, apparently emboldened by the appearance of Wayne's moral limits. "If they don't have the money, they don't fucking have it. You could kill me and they still wouldn't have it. You'd be better off getting your sofa ready for when they're kicked out. Or maybe go get a double futon. Unless you don't have the money for even that."

"I'm doing it," Katy announced.

"Katy—" began Wayne. But then she looked at him, and he shut up. She flicked her cigarette into the dirt on the side of the road, then strode forward. "Give me his phone.”

Teddy's immediate instinct was to grab his phone out from his pocket, and hold tight to it, but that just made it easier for Wayne to find and take it.

"It's locked," said Katy. "Give me his finger."

With much spluttering and struggling on Teddy's part, they managed to unlock the phone with Teddy's fingerprint.

"What are you lookin' for, Miss Katys?" said Squirrelly Dan, after a minute, trying to see if he was back into her good graces.

"Dick pics."

"There aren't any," protested Teddy.

"Of course there are," said Katy. "Guys like you are always sending them to girls. Oh, here we go." She tapped the screen a few times, tossed the phone on the road, and fixed Teddy in place with a look. "I just texted them to myself. If any of us see you around Letterkenny again, you’ll find these all over Facebook and in your mother’s inbox. Tell the bank that if they want to send someone, they can send someone else after a couple months. Or no, make that three months. To be polite." She turned on her heel and headed back towards the truck. Squirrelly Dan and Daryl followed.

"Didn't have to involve the phone," said Wayne. "Didn't want to."

"What is this, bad cop, worse cop?" said Teddy.

"I'm not apologizing," Wayne said. Straightening up, he began to walk towards Tanis's truck.

"Where are you going?" Katy called.

"The rez," Tanis called back.

"To do what?"

"He owes me a favor now. Assault is a felony. He just made me an accessory to a crime." But Tanis didn't look too worried about it. Actually, she looked like the cat that got into the cream.

"What kind of favor?" called Katy.

"Eh, we'll see."

Wayne climbed into the truck and shut the door. The women drove away in opposite directions. 

"You know," Squirrelly Dan said, from his spot in the back of the truck, "I think Joint Boy would've enjoyed that."

"Bet your ass he would've done it himself."

"RIP."

"Rest in peace."

The sky was blue, the corn and soybeans were growing, and Letterkenny was at peace again until the next fight.


End file.
